Bag of Bones
by Graveygraves
Summary: Someone is returning the remains of young boys, twelve years after they were abducted and murdered. Will this give the team the vital clues they need to finally apprehend the killer whose sudden disappearance had halted the investigation all those years in the past? Hotch/Rossi centric but all team involved as it's a case fic. Beta'd but views always appreciated.
1. Returning

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**This is for the Halloween Horrors challenge on CCOAC. My pair is Hotch/Rossi and my prompt Stephen King's Bag of Bones. This is a case fic set during Season 6 somewhere between the episodes 11 and 12. Thought it was important to set it in context. Also, a great big thanks to everyone on Facebook and CCOAC who helped me with certain timeline issues – you are all fantastic.**

**This is a work in progress at the moment so I will be posting weekly to begin with. Once finished in RL I will post more often.  
**

**. . .**

The cloudless night sky was lit with the soft glow of the yellowing full moon and a smattering of bright stars. Without the warmth of a blanket of clouds the night was cold, but dry - rare after the bitter winds and biting rain of the last few weeks.

Occasional vehicles moved along the quiet streets, nothing out of the ordinary for that time of a Saturday night. Couples returning from an evening out, a random teenager making their way back from the late night showing at the cinema, all the usual things you would expect from such a nice family area.

A man walked across the road, returning to the white picket fenced property with his large Golden Retriever in tow; obviously completing a late night lap of the neighbourhood before bed. Once inside a series of lights switched off, bringing darkness to the once illuminated home. The pattern made it easy to trace the route of the occupants through their bedtime routine. Just short of an hour later the final light was extinguished in what could only be the bedroom.

By now the area was beyond peacefully quiet and had moved into the eerie silence that made it uncomfortable to be out. Nothing moved in the unnaturally still night.

After hours of patient waiting, a shadowy figure made their way across to the immaculate property. Creeping up the path the heavy hessian bag was placed on the top step of the doorway, on top the plain envelope weighted down with a large smooth stone. Pausing for a moment, head bowed, the figure was startled by the deep bark shattering the silence. Getting to their feet they ran – gone before they heard the disapproving tones of the owner, scalding the persistent animal.

. . .

However that didn't stop the loud barks as Samson's paws pounded the front door - only halting to growl as he built up to the next warning siren of deep barks.

"For Christ's sake, what is it, boy?" Ryan Gardener muttered reaching the bottom step. Samson had always been a lively companion and prone to outbursts, but Ryan realised this was something different. It wasn't some dream that had woken the dog; something real had disturbed Samson's slumber.

Finding the door keys in the hallway table drawer, Ryan gave Samson's collar a tug that got him sat and finally silent. Opening the door, he was surprised to find the bundle dumped at his feet. Removing the stone he lifted the envelope and opened it, sliding out the yellow card with the word 'sorry' printed simply in the centre. Squatting down he opened the bag, Ryan fell back as Samson shot forward to sniff the contents.

"What is it?" Lisa Gardener called from the top of the stairs, as she heard her husband's scream of 'NO!' bounce and echo through the hallway.


	2. Briefing

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**I know I said there would be weekly updates - but I thought I really should post a chapter on Halloween as this is the Halloween challenge story. So here it is. Next chapter at the weekend.  
**

**As I said this is a case fic – but there will be plenty of Rossi/Hotch along the way. I am hoping that all place names are imaginary so as to not offend or cause me any further research problems.**

. . .

Penelope bustled pass her 'boss men', as they walked along the narrow gangplank, in a vain attempt to beat them to the meeting room. Once inside she placed her laptop, notepad and fluffy pen down as she took her seat next to Morgan.

"You okay, Baby Girl?" he whispered, swivelling his chair to lean in closer to her.

"I will be, Hunny, once we get the yuckiness over with, and I am back in the safety of my babies and a mirage of endless data," she scrunched up her nose as she spoke, causing her emerald glasses to wiggle.

Everyone looked up as Rossi and Hotch entered the grey room. Rossi moved round to take the final seat at the table, as near to directly opposite Hotch, who was taking the lead on the briefing. Hotch cleared his throat before he spoke. The screen behind him was showing the photos of numerous young boys.

"Each of these boys went missing over a period of six months, twelve years ago. They were abducted from homes across the state. Due to the distance between the original abduction sites, several months had passed before anyone was aware that a series of young children had gone missing. It was only when he struck twice in the town of Langfield, that connections started to be made," Hotch shuffled the manila file in front of him without doing anything actively with it, leafing through the pages that he already knew the contents of by heart.

Dave noticed the action, and let out a soft sigh. No case was ever easy, especially not when kids were involved, but since the two of them had last been involved in this particular case Aaron had become the father of a fine young boy. That was going to impact on him as they reviewed this, no matter what the stoic man did to deny his emotions.

"We were invited in to aid with the case when the extent of the victims was established," Hotch continued, "At the point the BAU was invited in, five months had passed since the first abduction that had been assigned to the UnSub. As the news broke he was labelled 'The Sandman'. Not useful, but guaranteed plenty of media exposure."

"The Sandman," Reid narrowed his eyes slightly as he concentrated, staring off into a point somewhere in the distance, obvious to all who knew him he was concentrating, "he abducted twelve victims over a six month period. All boys aged between six and eight, blue eyes and sandy hair. None of the bodies were ever recovered, a suspect was never established, and there was no explanation for the abrupt end to the abductions."

Hotch nodded his agreement at the young genius' summary of the original case. He glanced briefly up at Dave Rossi who sat admiring his colleague's recall of the old case.

"So, what's happened, we don't tend to consult on cold cases?" Morgan questioned, flicking through the info on his new 'i Pad' trying to find what development had caused them to reconsider the case.

"This," Hotch answered as the image on the screen changed from the collection of boys to an open bag, the contents of which were a pile of old yellow bones.

Everyone heard the slight screech from Penelope, at the lack of warning before the photos changed. She now had her back to the screen and her laptop firmly in front of her, tapping away, even though nothing had been asked of her.

"This is the fifth set of bagged remains found by the parents of the missing boys." Hotch explained, "This set was delivered late last night, hence your recall this morning. Obviously these are yet to be fully processed. However, the four previous bags have been DNA tested to prove they were the remains of Paul Grace, Mikey Brown, Carl Britton, and Dan Heath. The victims are being returned in the sequence that they were originally abducted."

"So you are saying that out of the blue, twelve years after the abductions stopped, our UnSub is returning the remains to the parents?" Emily asked in a tone of disbelief.

"Someone is returning them, and that someone is close enough to our UnSub to have known what they were doing, when and how," Hotch clarified. "We have to keep an open mind – but I think it is unlikely that this is the UnSub returning the remains. Though something has triggered these acts of remorse, and if we are lucky, may lead to our UnSub."

"The bones are clean, they have been washed. The yellowing effect on them could have been due to boiling at the point of death. Boiling causes fats to soak into the bone and stains the surfaces. It is possible our UnSub consumed the victims, or it may have been a method of disposal" Reid spoke out loud to no-one in particular, without looking up from the photograph he was studying closely before turning to the next in the pile. "All the remains appear the same, in that they have the same yellowing and are clean of any soil. Maybe the remains have not been buried; it is possible to keep bone successfully for extremely long periods of time if stored properly. A cool dry place is best, however the temperature is not important - other than it should be consistent. Any rapid changes in temperature or humidity would cause the bones to shrink and swell which would lead to them crumbling, which none of these remains show signs of. If the bones were allowed to air dry, after boiling, then they can be successfully stored for many years – as these prove."

Emily couldn't help staring at Reid, she had no idea how he could continue to amaze her with each new case. "But why return them now?"

"That is what we intend to find out," Hotch added gruffly, as he glanced around the team. "We can continue the discussion on the plane - wheels up in thirty minutes."

Hotch gathered his things and rapidly left the room, Rossi stood and was quick to fall into step beside him.

"You okay?" he asked as he levelled with Aaron.

"Fine," Hotch answered bluntly.

Dave shook his head, knowing that Aaron wasn't about to admit how he was feeling within the confines of FBI building, the thing was would he admit how he was feeling at all?

"Jack with Jess?"

"Yes," Aaron answered as he turned into his pristine office to collect his 'go bag'.

Dave followed, shutting the door behind him.

"Aaron, this was hard enough the first time round, however you are now the father of a young boy, no-one can deny there is more than a similarity between our victims and your son. You are not expected to be super human. You are allowed to have feelings," Dave tried to reach out to his friend.

Aaron glared up at the older profiler from behind his desk, were he was stuffing his files into his brief case. He didn't need words to tell Dave to back off, the look said it all. Dave already knew he had crossed the invisible line. The problem was Dave spent as much time on the wrong side of the line as he did on the right side. He pushed people and he was good at it.

Dave moved forward perching on the edge of Aaron's desk, blatantly entering his friend's personal space. "You know I realise this might not be the best time to discuss this, but I want you to know I am here Aaron, should you need to talk. And whether that is now, in the midst of the case, or when this is all over, you will talk to me."

Pushing himself off of the desk, Dave made his way back to his own office to collect his things - leaving Aaron to finish collating everything, and gathering his thoughts before they left.


	3. Wheels Up

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**As promised here is this week's offical update - another next weekend. Thank you for the support - it is appreciated.  
**

**This is a challenge response from Chit Chat on Authors Corner. Why not visit the forum and join in the fun and while you are there have a look at this year's award nominations and cast your votes!  
**

. . .

Gathered at one end of the soft leather clad cream jet, the team waited for Reid to return with his second cup of coffee. The rest of them had barely touched their first mug. All of them were busy reading through the information again before they continued the briefing. As they read the reports from the original case and compared them to the latest developments, notes had been made and paper files had been cross referenced with the electronic versions. The bigger picture was being broken down into its components, ready to be rebuilt in the form of a working profile.

As Reid squeezed into his seat he cleared a space for his mug before picking up the folder that he already knew the contents of by heart.

"The hessian bags would have been perfect for storing the bones for the past twelve years," Reid continued, "natural fibres allow the bones to breathe. If they had been buried then we would have seen increased discolouration and damage to the bone surface. Equally storage in something manmade, such as plastic would have also led to the bones being damaged."

"Let's go back," Rossi interrupted. "Twelve years ago we consulted on a case that left us without any answers. We had a detailed victimology. Our profile was sketchy, and way too general to give us any specific suspects. We had eliminated every name that had been put forward and we all knew we were missing something, but without a single body we didn't know what the killer was doing after abduction. Hell, we didn't even know if the kids were dead. We worked every possibility from killed, through tortured, to sold for God knows what purpose."

Emily looked up from the folder she had and switched her attention back to the team, "But now we know they were killed and possibly consumed by our killer."

Rossi gave enough of a nod to be noticeable, "Which changes all combinations of our original profile; cannibalism was about the only thing we didn't consider at the time."

"We had profiled our UnSub as organised, which is still true, but without knowing their intentions, we could not establish what drove him to abduct the boys." Hotch continued, "We considered various possibilities including that the killer was female looking for a replacement for a lost child, a team abducting for profit, a sadist – anything was possible."

"But now . . . "Emily prompted.

"Now we are assuming he was a cannibal. It is a very specific reason to kill," Rossi mused, his gaze having shifted to the window beside him.

"Anthropophagi, or the consumption of human flesh," Reid began again, "has a long history based in both in myth and fact. Many civilisations have stories of a cannibalistic nature. In modern culture there have been stories of survivors of extreme disasters eating the remains of those around them through to infamous serial killers such as Jeffrey Dahmer and Albert Fish, neither of which fully rationalised their intent in such matters. Many cannibalistic killers give some belief of the ritual being necessary for their survival, that the consumption of human flesh will prolong their life or cure them."

"So, are we working on the assumption we find the killer then we find who is returning the remains, or that we find who is returning the remains and that will lead us to the killer?" Morgan asked, glancing up from the information in front of him.

"Yes," answered Rossi gruffly. "Personally, I don't care which route we take as long as we get to the destination as quickly as possible."

"We know the person responsible for the return of the remains has enough knowledge of the original crimes to return them in order," Hotch said as he changed tack in their discussion.

"Or that they have found something that gives them that information," Reid interrupted, "a diary, records, news clippings, internet research – there are many possibilities. Though they are matching the remains correctly to the families they belong to. So there has to be some way of identifying them."

"Granted," Hotch nodded from where he was seated, "but add to that the fact they seem to be remorseful I would say they have a very personal connection to the original case and have been profoundly affected by it."

"What are we looking for? Parent, spouse, sibling, child?" Emily listed.

Most of the team shrugged in response.

"At this point we have to remain open minded, but realistically I feel that we are looking for a spouse or child, someone that was submissive enough to know what was going on without being directly involved," Hotch voiced his opinion. "In addition, we need to consider what may have triggered the return of the remains now."

"Do you think it could be linked to why the killer stopped so suddenly?" Emily asked.

"This type of killer is not going stop without a reason. We looked into all possibilities at the time that the abductions ceased," Rossi spoke softly, "death, injury, imprisoned – something physically stopped the UnSub from continuing his killing."

"Relate those to what could have motivated someone to return the remains and the list is something similar," Morgan chipped in. "Somehow this person now feels free of our UnSub. I hate to say it Rossi, but I don't rate your chances of actually catching the guy who did this."

Dave tried to shrug nonchalantly, though no-one was fooled by his action. He needed closure as much as the victims' families. He took cases personally, holding onto the facts for many years, reviewing them regularly.

Hotch narrowed his eyes as he focused on his friend and colleague. Personally, Hotch was not finding this easy, and he knew the same applied to Dave - just for very different reasons. Back when they had been brought in on the original case, they were both very different. Hotch had only just started his BAU career, he was keen to prove himself to the veteran who was overseeing his induction into the team. Dave on the other hand was jaded and bad tempered. He was ready to take a break or be broken; he chose to leave shortly after this case. Hotch wasn't saying it was the straw that broke the camel's back, but another 'failure' did nothing for the man's confidence.

"Morgan, Emily – I want you to focus on the person that is returning the remains. Reid, you and Dave focus on the original UnSub. I'll co-ordinate with the locals and oversee the media."

With Hotch's final words they all settled back into reviewing the evidence and sifting through the facts to aid their particular course of action.


	4. Moving Forward

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas.**

**This week's update! Still trying to finish the story in real life then hopefully the updates will be more frequent. **

. . .

The cool air hit as he opened the door before closing it quickly behind him. He flicked the light on as he made his way cautiously down the steps into the basement. Walking past the aging wine, he paused. Maybe he should try getting rid of this dusty collection next, since he was never going to drink them. Mentally he added to the 'to do' list, already he had shifted wardrobes full of clothes, shelves of musty old books and the precious artwork his father had hidden away from the world. Steadily he had striped his life of everything that represented his father.

The once rich and exuberant family home was now bare and minimalistic. A shock to the few visitors he had received since his father's death. However it was what he needed - his personal therapy. Once the house was clear, clean and innocent once more then he could move on. He'd sell it, with whatever remaining contents and start life again.

His own life, the way he had dreamed it would be - away from the shadow of his father, away from his influence and commands. He was young enough to start a fresh, to go to college have a career, be someone – be himself!

He shuddered slightly in the cold stale air, while opening the second door, hidden behind the still full wine racks. Stepping into the smaller white washed brick room, he headed towards the metal shelves, pulling forward the next sealed box. Opening the lid slightly the now familiar aroma hit his nostrils. Removing the box completely from the shelf, he placed it on the nearby table. The table he had already cleared when he had found this secret storage.

He knew what his father had done, at least some of it. He knew about the boys, hell he had been forced to befriend them prior to his father taking them. Removing the lid and placing it down he took the dark envelope from the box, softly brushing the hessian bag at the same time. He didn't need to open the envelope and see the contents to know that this box held the remains of Charlie Vahn. His father's 'filing' system was pretty basic. Start top left on the shelves, working across then down to the next layer. Four boxes per shelf, he had already cleared one completely and now he was working his way through the middle shelf.

Placing the lid back down on the box he took care to return the box to its resting place, pausing a moment in prayer. He didn't know why, he had long ago given up any hope in the faith his mother held so tightly, yet somehow he now found a comfort in the unspoken words.

Turning he left his father's treasured collection and went back upstairs. He had research to do.

. . .

"So, my Superheroes," Penelope's voice chirped over the laptop, "the Vahn family's stayed in the same house that they lived in when young Charlie went missing. It is surprising that more of the families haven't moved on," she mused.

"They want to be there in case their son comes home one day," Rossi spoke from the back of the group without looking up.

"Huh, makes sense I guess," Penelope pushed her emerald green glasses back up her nose as she spoke. "Anyhow, I have tracked all of our remaining families and have sent the details through to you. Anything else I can do, my Liege?"

Hotch's lip twitched at the corner, never tiring at the terms she came out with that remained respectful, but pushed every boundary of protocol.

"Garcia, could you search through all recent deaths in the town of Henford? Reid's geographical profile has centred this as the possible origins of our UnSub. Focus on those that happened within a month of the first set of remains being returned. Then cross reference them with events around the time of the last victim's death – look for an accident or long term illness that could have put an end to the killer's activities," Hotch requested.

"Your wish is my command," Garcia smiled sweetly before disappearing like the magic genie she professed to be.

Hotch looked around his team, everyone was continuing to work hard, as if he expected anything else. Upon arrival at the small town police station, they had busied themselves setting up the investigation room. The room was split in two, one side dedicated to the past and everything they had prioritised from the original case displayed alongside Reid's colour coded map of the state. Opposite was the current crime scene photos, the similarity in each was stark. As obvious as the physical links between the abducted boys photos that had been placed next to the images of the crumpled hessian bags.

Getting up slowly he passed to the other side of the relatively large room, the team had been impressed, such small rural stations usually meant that they were placed in the largest broom cupboard. However, due to a fire a couple of years back, the station was now bright, modern and airy. A welcome relief to the team who at this stage were still chasing paper trails, before they started the footwork.

As he reached the far side, Hotch poured two coffees; taking one over to Dave he placed it down in front of him, purposely in his line of sight. "You got a minute?" he asked, his tone making it clear to the older agent that he had.

"Sure," Dave said as he looked up, closing the current file that had held his attention.

Both men stood and left the rest of the team behind as they exited the room.

"They okay?" Emily asked no-one in particular as she nodded in the direction of the two senior agents as they left.

Morgan shrugged, as he stopped to take a swig from the chilled bottle of water beside him. "Guess it can't be easy for Hotch - just look at the kids and tell me they don't remind you of Jack."

Emily had to nod in agreement, as they both noticed Reid's narrow his eyes as he focused on the photos Morgan had just referred to. The genius was brilliant at processing facts and information, but making links outside of the box – that was a different matter.

"Besides," Morgan added, "going back to a case like this after all this time, it's going to turn up all sorts of emotions, no matter how hard arse we all pretend to be."

"Are you admitting you're not a hard arse?" Emily teased.

"Okay you got me," he smiled, "I am, as usual, the exception to the rule."


	5. Protection

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**I start maternity leave next week so hoping I will be able to get this finished in real life fairly soon, then get it up a posted for you. **

. . .

"So?" the one word Dave uttered held the question that made everything else unnecessary as they stepped outside in the late afternoon air. Hidden around the back of the building they could still hear the mass of media camped outside the front waiting to prey on each person that entered or exited the building – hoping that sometime soon someone would have some titbit for them.

Dave lent back against the railing that encased the ramp at the rear entrance, sipping his coffee with a grimace. The shiny new building may have a fancy new coffee machine, but it still didn't serve anything better the bitter crap they were use to.

"I want you to take the press conference later," Aaron spoke flatly as he looked past his colleague and focused on some random spot in the distance. Even Dave turned to glance at what held Aaron's attention.

"And you have come to that conclusion because . . .?"

"You were the original lead agent on this case, people seeing you it may jog something that they have long forgotten, trigger a memory or two. We are clutching at straws with this one as there is no additional information to add to what we had the first time round. The only possible suggestion I have at the moment to solve this is to stake out the Vahn's house and hope we catch the guy that way. Besides," Aaron finally glanced at Dave, "you have always had a certain charm with the media."

Dave smirked; his book tours and signings had taught him a lot over the years. Talking to the media just involved turning on the old Rossi charm and playing along with the game. Give a little and hide a lot. The piranhas of the press would feel well fed and he will have kept the intricate details of the case protected.

"And the real reason?" Dave added, waiting for Aaron to look at him.

Aaron's eyes narrowed, though he had known he would not get away with Dave not noticing an ulterior motive.

"No matter how hard you try to protect them they see things they shouldn't," Aaron began sadly, "Jack saw a clip of the last press conference and started asking questions. His friends asked why his Daddy was on TV. It's a difficult age. He is old enough to pick out certain phrases and words but not old enough to understand their meaning. Is it wrong of me to want to protect him from all of this, from what I do?"

Dave shook his head, "No, I would say that it was far from wrong, more that it is your duty to try and protect Jack. Of course I will do the press conference, it will be my pleasure."

Though one look at the profilers face made it clear it was anything but a pleasure.

. . .

He pulled up on the opposite side of the road to the house he had searched for. Much like the last it hadn't changed over the years from the one he had in his boyhood memories. The front lawn was immaculately cut, with a pretty boarder of bright flowers. The porch way was decorated with hanging baskets containing small delicate blooms that complemented the larger coloured petals of the flower beds. It was pretty much as he had remembered it.

Various lights were on dotted throughout the house. But there was nothing in that room, the one he knew had belonged to Charlie. You see that was his job, make friends with the boys at the park, play with them, smile sweetly at their Mom and introduce his Dad. While the boys played the adults would talk. Eventually after 'bumping' into each other a few times; the park, the mall, the supermarket he would be asked round to tea. That was his chance to tell his father everything. To tell him where in the house to find them - which room belonged to whom in the family. Then his job was done.

He remembered Charlie had an elder sister Abigail. He hadn't liked her, how he had prayed his father might take her, she was nasty and spiteful and made both him and Charlie cry when he had visited. Looking at the light on in the room that had been hers he wondered if she was in there now. How old would she be now? Twenty-one maybe twenty-two. It was more than possible she was still living at home.

Curious he resisted the urge to make his way over in the dark to spy in the side of the house. Though he longed to see if she was there, and what sort of person she had grown into, but he knew the risk could ruin everything and he still had plenty of work to do. Returning Charlie would only get him to half way through the task he had to complete.

As he sat watching the house he became aware of a dark sedan passing for the second time, slowing as it drove by the house he watched. Suspicious he started his engine, moving away. Damn, he cursed under his breath, concerned that people had figured out what he was doing. This wasn't a time to take risks; he would leave the Vahns' to another day. He needed to move on if he was to return the others safely without interruption.

. . .

Emily rubbed her temples, trying to ward off the dull ache that threatened to form to a fully fledged headache. Other then leaving the office to go with Morgan and meet the Vahns' early evening, she hadn't set foot outside the confines of the police station and now it was nearing midnight. She glanced round at the others, spotting the obvious signs of fatigue on each of her colleagues in turn. As she did so she caught Hotch's eye. She forced a smile.

"I think it's time we called it a night," he began, having glanced at his watch and realised the time, "We will start tomorrow with a full team briefing and plan the rest of the day from there. The locals in each town have unmarked patrols on each of the remaining families, they are circling at regular intervals looking for anything suspicious. We see what they report back in the morning. Our best hope at this point is to catch a lead on whoever is returning the remains."

Each member of the team stood, wearily, and made their way towards the exit in silence.


	6. The Information Genie

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**So the good news is that this is finished in real life and I am just about to send my beta the finial chapter and epilogue! So from now on the updates will be more frequent. Sorry for keeping you waiting.  
**

. . .

Dragging themselves into the bright room, the team settled quickly around the central table. The combination of back to back heavy caseloads complete with being called in on their first weekend off for the month was obvious on them all. Morgan placed the hot pot of coffee in the centre of the table, without being asked, right next to various bags of pastries and treats to give their blood sugar levels an unnatural high at the start of the day.

Hotch shuffled the files he had in front of him as the team passed around the goodies and filled their mugs with the fresh brew. As the general noise settled down he glanced round one last time to check he had everyone's attention, finishing with a look at the recently opened laptop screen, where Garcia had appeared as if by magic. Placeing his hands calmly on the pile of neatly stacked files he was ready to start the day.

Hotch cleared his throat and began, "I have collated the reports from all the local forces. None of them have officially reported anything suspicious from last night. However the patrol assigned to the Vahns' did think early evening that they had a possible vehicle. They spotted a dark blue pick-up parked opposite the Vahns' but it moved on."

"And they don't class that as suspicious?" Rossi asked drily, "Let me guess they didn't bother getting the plates and having it checked just in case."

Hotch just raised an eyebrow in reply. He didn't like to criticise the locals but sometimes they just left themselves wide open to it.

"Thought so," Dave added to clarify for anyone who hadn't seen Hotch's response, "So do we have anything useful?"

"Ah," came the ever cheery voice of Penelope Garcia, "this, my Super Agent, is when you sit back stunned and in awe of my prowess. I have busied myself running around the corridors of cyberspace, hunting through the dusty broom cupboards of local registers and records and discovered a collection of possible suspects for you. Obviously I have sent all relevant information through to you before I even took the first bite of my breakfast bagel."

"Have we ever told you how amazing you are, Kitten?" Dave asked, clocking the wide grin of their tech analysis.

"Oh you have, but it never hurts to tell me on a regular basis."

"You're amazing," he said with a grin.

"Aw, shucks," she giggled as she spoke.

Each of the agents reached for their devices, even Reid tapped at the screen tentatively; well aware that his paper copy would be sorted for later.

"So," Penelope continued, "I have established five possibilities from the recently deceased who match your criteria of a possible debilitating illness or accident that would have ended their Serial Killer career at the appropriate time for the end of our suspect's reign."

Each member of the team glanced over the information as Garcia ran through her short list.

"First up we have Jason Seymour, 46. He was a farmer in rural Stockham, had a large amount of arable land. Unfortunately, or fortunately if he happens to be our bad guy, he had an accident one day involving certain machinery that I really don't want to think about. Anyhow the upshot was that he lost a leg and suffered spinal damage that left him paralysed. Family, wife and three children, kept the farm going and until his recent death. It is now on the market listing his only son as the current occupant."

"Possible. A farm would have plenty of space to do whatever it is he did to the boys," Rossi spoke his thoughts out loud. "Plus it sounds like he had quite a hold over the family if they kept the farm going while he was alive, but the minute he's gone they sell up."

"They feel free from him," Morgan confirmed.

"Okay, number two on the list. Paul Rowling, 58, took early retirement from his position as town librarian in Caldecote, where victim number ten, Steven Wadey was from. He was diagnosed with early onset Alzheimer's. He became part of a clinical trial for Alzheimer's which the researchers claim has led to many successfully prolonged lives. Rowling being one of these, as apparently only 3% of people live more than 14 years after diagnosis. "

"Family?" Emily asked.

"A wife and a daughter. Elena Rowling has stayed near to her husband, selling the family home and moving closer to the research facility once their daughter left home. Charlotte Rowling, now 28, lives in California. Not wanting to be near the family home for some reason."

"Personally, I think it's unlikely. If they sold the family home, then the bones were either stored somewhere else or they had to be moved with everything else, which would have been risky," Hotch said.

"Hey, I find the names, it's you job to apply your mystique powers of deduction and eliminate from the list. Which leads us to number three, bit of a wildcard this one. Albert Dunn, a retired engineer, died aged 75. He had moved in with his eldest son's family when diagnosed with Parkinson's disease. His son is a school teacher, well vice-principal now of the high school in Keynes. They have twins – one girl, one boy."

"If he was already diagnosed with Parkinson's when he arrived it is unlikely he would be fit enough to carry out these murders," Reid explained.

"But what if the son was doing it for his father? Father/son team – one dominant, one submissive. Now his father has passed on then he can get rid of all the evidence and continue with his life," Emily stated. "Garcia could you check with Albert Dunn's home town, see if anything like this was happening there before he left? He could have started before he came to this area."

"Sure thing, my Sweet, will do it in a jiffy. Number four on the list is Chris Nixon, 51 a travelling sales rep who had an epileptic seizure while driving home one night. His car crashed and he went into a coma. His wife insisted that he was kept alive. However when she passed away at the start of the month, their son made the decision to switch off all machinery responsible for sustaining his father's life."

"Interesting, another possibility," Rossi spoke again. "Where does the son live?"

"Huh, he is still in the family home, just turned twenty and has been working in the local hardware store since leaving high school. Though looking at his grades he could have gone onto college. His mother has been ill for the last five years, and it appears he may have stayed at home to look after her."

"Garcia, can you see if the son has a blue pick-up, or access to one?" Morgan asked, looking up at her on the screen.

"Sure thing, just adding it to my list."

"Actually Garcia, could you do that for any family of the complete list," Hotch added.

"Okay, so we have reached our last suspect, one John Gilbert, 49. He was a fireman, injured in the line of duty. Since then he has been in and out of hospital with related complications. He recently lost his battle with lung disease. He leaves a wife and two sons, though he had become estranged from his wife five years ago. His eldest son, Robert, visited him regularly."

"Thank you Garcia," Hotch looked directly at her on the screen. "We have plenty to work with here."

"Anytime. And I shall get back to you with the additional information you requested as soon as superhumanly possible."

Hotch looked back at the team, each engrossed in the information Garcia had procured. This was the break they had been waiting for. This held such possibilities, yet he didn't get his hopes up. They had received plenty of such leads the first time - none of which led to success.


	7. Break Through

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**As promised the updates will be more frequent now.  
**

. . .

Pacing to and fro across the plush lounge carpet, sweat beading on his brow, James glanced at the extra large TV screen. Running his fingers through his dirty tousled hair he needed time to think. He wasn't stupid, he had assumed that the media would be all over this story once they had started to put the pieces together, but he had hoped he would be nearer the end of his work then this before they did. It would make everything so much more difficult now.

Sighing softly, he was glad he had moved on when he did yesterday, had he of stayed watching the Vahn household he was now convinced that someone would have become suspicious. He had to be careful.

Though really it wasn't as if he was doing anything wrong, was it? The parents deserved their children back. They had the right to know what had happened to their little boys. He was putting their minds at rest, righting the wrongs of his father. Surely no-one would suspect him as having a part in any of this, would they? You hardly needed a math degree to work out that he had only been a child himself at the times of the abductions. He wasn't a killer. He was innocent.

Flopping on the brown couch, he stared at the silent images on the screen. He had turned the sound off to allow himself chance to think. The boys' faces, one after the other, filled the screen. James assumed the programme was doing some sort of synopsis of the original case. He wondered how much they knew, had the bones told them anything new?

He remembered how pleased his father had been, how smart he was. There was no way they were going to catch him. He had made that clear. James hadn't wanted to know, he hated his father for what he was doing, but he feared him even more.

He had once tried to tell his mother what was happening. She had hushed him up and told him that all families had secrets and that he shouldn't talk about it. Obviously she had known too, yet she never tried to stop him. That he couldn't understand until the night he had heard shouting and had seen the next morning the damage his father had done. That night insured his silence.

Even now, as he returned the remains to the families, he had to do it in silence - still afraid that somehow, from the grave, his father could punish him for his betrayal.

Suddenly he switched the sound back on as another vaguely familiar face appeared on the screen.

"_We realise that whoever is responsible for returning the remains is trying to make amends for the sins of others. We want to help. You have done nothing wrong, but there is better ways then this to help the families. Please come forward and let us help you with your burden."_

James stared directly into the familiar dark brown eyes as he stilled the image. He recognised the now older FBI agent. It was the very agent who had come to his school and warned them about the man who was taking small boys from their homes. He remembered his soft tones explaining patiently that this wasn't some monster as portrayed in the press. He didn't have fangs and claws and hide in their closet. James hadn't needed telling that – he knew what 'the Monster' looked like.

_That moment when the hands of his friends were shooting up to tell the agent what they had seen in the night or ask more questions. That had been the one time he had come so close to telling, even though he was aware of the consequences. His hand had risen into the air, without him knowing. His teacher had called his name, but even though he opened his mouth nothing had come out. Fear returning to silence him once more._

"_No matter, kid," the agent had said as he ruffled his slightly too long hair._

Shaking his head, he came crashing back to the present. Did he trust that man enough to let him in? Could they really help? They seemed to understand what he was doing.

James slumped further into the couch contemplating what to do next.

. . .

Morgan continued to moan as he sat in the unmarked car down the street from the Vahns' house. There was no-one else near enough to hear him, but that didn't stop him. He was not happy being stuck out on a stake out, waiting in vain for something to happen. He preferred a more direct route - one that involved smashing doors and making immediate arrests.

He was tired and sitting in the darkness was doing nothing to help. Caffeine had long ago lost its efficiency and now he felt groggy. The only consolation was that he wasn't the only member of the team to be stuck out watching a building for suspect elements.

Each team member had been assigned a family to watch over. Going on the previous pattern tonight should see the next delivery. However as it neared midnight Morgan had seen nothing that warranted his attention.

Tapping his phone screen he connected to Garcia, "Hey Baby Girl, tell me I am desperately needed somewhere else right now."

"Why, Hot Stuff, you know I am always in desperate need of you."

He had to smile at her response. "That wasn't what I meant and you know it."

"No, but it made you smile, just try and deny it."

He shook his head, she knew him too well.

"Though, in all seriousness, I was about to contact Hotch, but I'm sure you are just as good," her tone changed to a more serious one, "You know the search you requested earlier to see if any of the families of the suspects had access to a blue pick-up and I found nothing. Well I have been digging a little deeper and Chris Nixon had a blue pick-up. By the look of things it was hardly used as he had a company car too, which he was driving the night of his accident. The pick-up is still in his name and I would assume somewhere at the family home as there is no sign that they sold it or changed ownership after Nixon's accident."

"Thank you," Morgan answered as he started the engine.


	8. The Boys

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Will hopefully post the rest of the story this week - fingers crossed.  
**

. . .

Hotch spotted Morgan's vehicle straight away as he pulled up at the end of the long driveway leading to the rural ranch like building he couldn't yet make out in the darkness. There was definitely the space and the isolation to commit the crimes. Getting out he crossed to join Morgan as a couple of local police cars pulled up, thankfully having followed instructions and approached silently.

Opening the door, Hotch sat inside. "Do we know if he is home?"

Morgan shrugged. "Hard to tell. I went down by foot as soon as I got here, there were some lights on, but I didn't see any movement."

"Emily is on her way here, she shouldn't be much longer. Rossi and Reid were further out, so I have told them to meet us back at the station. I organised with all local forces to supply someone to watch the homes we have abandoned to come here, just in case we have missed James Nixon and he turns up at one of those instead of here."

Morgan nodded as he looked up through the windscreen as a bright set of headlights approached. He assumed, correctly, that it was Emily. Both men exited the dark car to brief the locals that would be supporting them as they moved in on the house.

. . .

Hotch and Emily stood at the front door, their weapons were holstered, after all they had no reason to believe James would be violent and they didn't want to freak him out. Reaching up to knock the tough wooden door Hotch and Emily waited patiently. Morgan was round the back in case James panicked and tried to make a run for it. If he was the person they wanted then who knew what mental state he was currently in. The impact of living through the original crimes and the obvious responsibility he now felt to right, what they assumed was, his father's wrongs was unimaginable.

"Anything?" Hotch asked through the communication system.

"There is a light on, but no movement this way. You?" Morgan responded.

"No. . . Hang on . . . wait a minute."

Hotch paused as he heard movement inside. Slowly the door opened slightly.

"James Nixon?" Emily asked as the young sandy haired man came into her view.

He nodded silently, his eyes flicking up and down as he clocked the FBI lettering on the Kevlar she was wearing under her jacket (just in case).

"I'm Agent Prentiss, this is Agent Hotchner, and we're with the FBI. Sorry it is so late, but we need to ask you a few questions, they really are urgent. Do you mind?" Emily spoke softly, trying to reassure the pyjama clad individual.

The door opened wider as James stepped to one side, allowing them in. Emily smiled as she entered, Hotch behind her. Morgan having overheard, stepped down from the back door and moved towards the front of the house.

James shuffled through to an open lounge area, dominated by a large flat screen television and an abundance of dark cushion covered couches. Silently he offered them a seat as he flopped on to a couch on his own, instinctively drawing his knees up, wrapping his arms around protectively.

Hotch couldn't help but think how child like he looked.

"You are here for them, aren't you?" James asked quietly.

Emily, perched on the edge of the couch, looked directly at James. "Here for who, James?"

"Them . . . the boys," he spat at her, too tired to play games.

Emily glanced at Hotch; this wasn't what they had expected, though it was obvious from the dark shadows and the sallow skin that this young man was at the end of his tether.

"James, can you show me what you mean, please?" Emily asked, meeting the young man's eyes once more.

James nodded and stood, Emily and Hotch followed him out of the luxurious room and back across the hallway to a dark wood door.

Hotch was glad Emily was taking the lead, as he was finding James unnerving. There was something about the sandy haired, blue eyed man and his quietly confident way that Hotch didn't like. He didn't know if it was his similarity to the victims or to his own son that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, but he definitely didn't like it.

As they followed James down the perfectly lit stone steps into the cool atmosphere of the wine cellar, Hotch's senses went onto high alert. They were trusting the young man more than he liked, at least Morgan was outside listening to everything if they needed him. As they walked past the racks of dusty bottles, Hotch instinctively let his hand hover over his weapon. He watched as James unlocked another door and opened it, standing back so they could go in.

"They are in there," he said flatly.

Emily smiled reassuringly. "Who are they, James?"

"You know; it's why you are here. You know what he did and you know what I have done. I . . . have. . . done . . . nothing . . . wrong," James' arms dropped lifelessly by his side.

Emily and Hotch watched as the young man begun to falter, his calm facade cracking for the first time.

"They are in there, where he left them," James sniffed back a sob, as he stepped into the room. He pulled a box off the shelf and placed it onto the smooth table. "Charlie Vahn," he said as he lifted the lid, pulling out a hessian bag and a dark envelope. He handed the envelope to Emily.

Slowly she opened it, pulling out the photographs of a young boy she recognised as Charlie Vahn, others of his family's house, plus pages of roughly written notes. All evidence of the time Chris Nixon had spent hunting down his victims and getting to know all he could about them. She passed it to Hotch who glanced quickly at the contents.

"James," Hotch began, "We need you to allow us to collect the remains of the boys and the evidence that is here. I also need to you come with us and tell us everything you know."

"But I haven't done anything wrong," James' dull eyes pleaded his cause.

"We know you haven't, we need you to help us. You need to tell us what he did."

James nodded, looking from one agent to the next.

"I'll help, but I want to talk to him, to Agent Rossi. He was on the news earlier and I remember him from before."

Hotch nodded. "We can do that for you. Please go and get dressed and then come with me. We can go and meet with Agent Rossi. I will leave Agent Prentiss here with a colleague to collect the evidence, if that is okay?"

James nodded once more, moving past the agents and back out of the room.


	9. Interview

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Sorry meant to post this last night but got distracted.  
**

. . .

Rossi came to stand next to Hotch, watching the sandy lad curled up in the chair of the interview room. He was nervously chewing on the quick of his thumb nail as he sat wide eyed in the corner of the room. His chair deliberately moved back from the table.

"So he asked for me, did he?" Dave said softly.

Hotch nodded. "Apparently he remembers you from the original case. He appears to trust you."

"As I recall we visited a lot of schools back then, a kid looking like that should have caught our attention on those visits. We should have seen him as a potential victim. If we had of investigated him back then . . ." Dave's voice trailed off as he drove his hands deeper into his pockets, his jaw tightening.

"Don't Dave," Hotch snapped. "We were hunting an UnSub, not coveting possible victims. We warned all children, not just those who fitted the victimology."

"But still . . ."

"Hindsight is an amazing thing, makes it a lot easier to realise what we should have done, but we didn't and we can't change that."

"And because of that another kid died. Hell, if Chris Nixon hadn't of crashed, how many more would have been added to the list?" anger was evident in Dave's clipped tone.

Hotch spun to face his colleague and friend. "You know we can't think like that!"

"Do as I say, not as I do," Dave huffed. "Think we are both good at that. Are you ready?"

The older profiler moved towards the door, pausing for Hotch to join him. Together they made their way through to the interview room. Opening the door slowly and carefully, Hotch led the way in. He noted the way James' eyes followed him before darting back to Rossi, staring intently at his colleague.

"James, this is Agent Rossi, you asked to speak to him, so I have asked him to join us for this interview."

"Hello, James," Dave smiled reassuringly as he offered a hand to be shaken, his previous mood shifted to be replaced with his professional facade.

James didn't take the offered hand. Instead he drew his knees up closer to his chest, swapping the thumb he was chewing. Hotch noted the same child like quality that he had observed earlier.

Both men took a seat by the table, Hotch gently resting a file on the flat surface, before lacing his fingers and placing his hands on top.

"James," Hotch began, "you agreed to come down here to talk to us about what your father did. Could you tell us about that now?"

James shrugged insolently. "You know what he did, he killed boys," the flat and unemotional tone of his voice was chilling.

Dave leant forward on the table, lacing his fingers together as he spoke calmly. "Humour me, James. I have wanted to know for a long time what happened to those boys. Only you can help me with that. So let's start with Paul Grace, after all he was the first, wasn't he?"

James nodded, rubbing his eyes. "He took me to the park, he hadn't ever done that before. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do so I held back, played on my own. I had never been allowed friends home from school. He had told me I didn't need friends. All of a sudden he pulled me over to the others, shoving me towards this other kid. He told me I had to be his friend. I did as he told me, I went and played. It was . . . fun."

"So your father used you too befriend the boys," Dave clarified.

James nodded, his deeply shadowed eyes looking up at the profiler.

"I didn't know why. We met Paul several times over the next few weeks; he had never taken me out so much before. I . . . I started to like it."

"What changed that?"

"Paul disappeared."

"Did you know what happened to him?"

James shook his head vigorously. "I asked, but I was told to shut up, and that it was none of my business. Within days we were back out, he took me to a different park and we met Mikey Brown. He said I needed a new friend."

"And the same thing happened."

"Yes."

Hotch leant forward. "James, when did you find out what your father was doing?"

James' eyes darted nervously from one man to the other, his eyes wide. "I found Dan's bear."

"Daniel Health?" Hotch clarified.

James nodded, a solitary tear rolling down his cheek. "The door was open. I knew I wasn't ever supposed to go down there, but I saw the blue bear on the step and I knew it was his. It didn't make sense, Dan had never been to our house, I still wasn't allowed friends to come home. I stepped down to get it quickly, but he saw me. He was angry. He shouted as he took the bear. Telling me I was stupid, that I never did as I was told. He went to slap me, I froze. He said if I didn't shut up I would end up like them . . . in a bag."

"He threatened to kill you if you told, so you stayed silent," Dave summarised.

James shook his head, a fluff of hair falling forward over his tired, red rimmed eyes.

"I tried to tell Mom, but she wouldn't listen. I told her Dad was taking boys, my friends, but she told me to be quiet and to never tell anyone what I had seen. She said it was a mistake and I was confused. But I knew what I had seen. Mom just kept telling me not to make him angry, that I didn't want to make him angry."

"Had you seen your father's temper before?" Dave asked.

James shook his head, sniffing before wiping his arm across his face; "But I heard it for the first time that night. And saw the evidence on my Mom the next morning. He had always been so controlled. Thinking about it I never saw him laugh or cry. He was just him."

"That is useful James; it helps us to understand your father's personality."

James shifted slightly in his seat at the vague complement.

"We do have some more questions about what your father did, if that's okay," Dave smiled as he spoke.

James nodded as the interview continued.


	10. Tidying Away

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**Just the epilogue after this which I will post at the beginning of next week - I promise.  
**

. . .

Slowly and deliberately Dave returned everything to the brown cardboard boxes. Each labelled and sorted to allow the locals to store the evidence that would never see a courtroom. The case was closed, the solution found, but Dave was still restless. This hadn't been the answer he had wished for. He had wanted to hold someone responsible for the years of suffering the families had endured. Serve justice for the pain they had caused.

As he worked in the dull evening light, painstakingly filing and organising, his mind whirled with the answers they had got from James. It had been obvious that the young man had helped them as much as he possibly could, but there was a limit even to his knowledge. His involvement had been limited to meeting the boys and gaining information, it appears after that his mother had done the best she could to protect him from anything more sinister.

They now knew that Chris Nixon had been a predatory paedophile. He had hunted out young boys that reminded him of his own son and they were left to assume that whatever he did to them, down in the cellar, fulfilled his fantasies of what he had wished to do to his very own son. Unfortunately this was something James had become aware of during the interview. Dave closed his eyes recounting the look of horror as James had realised the truth of his father's sick obsession.

Dave continued to struggle with the fact that he could not answer the parents' questions as to what that was. Had he tortured them, abused them, cared for them? All evidence of his actions was destroyed when he had boiled their small bodies. The room the remains were in was forensically sterile. Other then the remains there was no evidence of what happened within those four walls. Someone had obviously cleared the room of the 'equipment', leaving just the remains and the notes. James isisted the room was how he had found it, so Dave had assumed Mary Nixon had 'tidied up' after her husband when he had been in the crash. It was the only reasonable explanation. A driven killer like Nixon would not have given up unless something had stopped him.

Dave pinched the bridge of his nose, the tension in his head spreading. Hell had they been alive when he had boiled them? Had they died in agony? They would never know. They knew Chris Nixon had a temper. That he was more than capable of inflicting pain and damage upon a person. James had told them of the bruises his mother had needed to hide. But that didn't make him a sadist. It just made him a bully, a monstrous bully. Who ruled his home by creating fear in his family, and it had obviously worked a treat. Even in a coma his wife had feared him enough to prolong his life. Yet she had felt the need to protect her son from the truth too.

Then there was the question of what he did with the remains after death. Were they boiled purely to destroyed evidence? Had he ever consumed their flesh or organs? Where the bones just the ultimate trophy?

To many the details that Dave needed were grotesque and unwanted, but to Dave they were a necessary part of the process. The process that let him come to a sense of understanding, that allowed him to complete the cycle of grief he held for each innocent life lost to such a barbaric man.

Lost in his own thoughts he was not aware of Hotch entering the room. Even now as the younger man stood and watched him go through the motions of tidying their involvement away, Dave was oblivious, engrossed in what he could now do to find his own closure.

Aaron coughed softly before speaking, aware that he was interrupting a private moment but feeling the need to say something; "I thought you would like to know that arrangements have been made with all the families for the return of their children's remains. They will all have some form of answer for all these years of wondering."

Dave nodded as he continued to sort the photos he had removed from the board, pausing with each individual as if trying to retain their image in his mind forever. He would not forget - he never did.

"Dave, we . . ." Aaron's voiced trailed off, for once he wasn't sure what to say, instead he stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his once mentor's shoulder. He was trying to offer some reassurance to his friend in his time of need.

"I know," Dave spoke with a bitter tone, struggling to maintain his emotions. "We have done what we came here to do. We found the person returning the remains and in addition we solved the case. Strauss will be a happy bunny."

"Dave, we both know that this isn't about statistics."

"It is in her world. She can smile sweetly and be grateful for another job well done. She never sees the individuals. Never witnesses the pain etched on their faces, the way they have aged through years of agony. This isn't real to her," He shouted, slamming down the remaining photos and paperwork.

Aaron knew there was no reasoning with him, and to be honest he knew Dave was right. When they walked out of the door this became another BAU success story with no-one left to help those left behind to come to terms with what had happened. Officially their job was done.

And it wasn't just the families who had lost their sons that they left stranded. There was James - the boy who had been forced to help his father to procure the boys to fuel his fantasies. He had grown up knowing what his father had done, but lived in the fear of telling anyone. Then as an adult had taken on the responsibility of trying to make amends for his father's actions. What would become of him?

"I have sent everyone else back to the hotel, to get some sleep," Aaron explained, trying to move Dave on from his current state. "We'll fly home in the morning. Can I help you here? Then I suggest we go for a drink."

Dave shook his head, in no mood for company; "I'll finish up here, thanks."

"You don't have to do this alone. I do know how you are feeling. I'm . . ." pausing Aaron searched for an appropriate word, "…frustrated by the outcome too. There are many questions left unanswered."

Dave's eyebrows raised in way of a response to Aaron's understatement, before he passed a pile of paperwork and files. Maybe some company was what he needed right now, even if he hadn't thought so previously.

. . .

As always Aaron was the first on the plush jet. He already had an array of files open on the table in front of him, though he was struggling to concentrate on any due to the dull throb in his head. The drink he and Dave had set out to have last night had lasted longer than either had intended.

Dave had been in the mood to reminisce and together many a previous case had been scrutinised once more running into the early hours. It hadn't helped anyone, it hadn't changed anything, but at least Aaron had hoped that it meant Dave had been able to sleep well. After all they had not been drinking to forget, instead they had been remembering.

As he sat and awaited the arrival of the rest of the team, who had split for breakfast, Aaron sipped at the strong, hot coffee he had made.

"Please tell me there is another one of those available," came the gruff tones of David Rossi, boarding the jet complete with dark glasses.

Aaron nodded as he rose to fetch another mug, placing it in front of his colleague with a wry smile. Obviously he wasn't the only one suffering this morning.


	11. Soccer

**Bag of Bones**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the ideas**

**This is it then the end - I have tried to do it in the style of one of the little 'family & friends' clips that they often do at the end of the show. Hope it works. Due to when this story was set in the episode timeline Hotch and Rossi haven't started coaching the team yet!  
**

. . .

"He who knows others is wise; he who knows himself is enlightened."

**Lao Tzu****, Chinese philosopher**

**. . .**

Dave sauntered over to stand behind Aaron as he vocally encouraged his son. The Sunday soccer match was in the final few moments, and it looked like it was going to be another loss. Dave smiled as Aaron was blissfully unaware of his surroundings and fully absorbed in his son's game. He considered it one of the pleasures of his friendship that he was able to share in such private family moments.

Keeping his hands firmly rested in his jacket pockets, he waited for the enviable end. It seemed the perfect way to be spending some of his well earned weekend off, the cool, fresh air causing slight clouds with each breath. However this was more fulfilling then lazing in bed for another hour or two.

As the final whistle blew out through the morning air, Jack ran towards his father who scooped him and swung him round, before placing him down and ruffling his hair. Dave's smile widened at the sight. Their father and son bond seemed to grow in strength each day, both gaining from the other individual.

"Uncle Dave," Jack called out as he ran from his father and towards the older agent, "Did you see I nearly got a goal?"

Dave nodded with a smile, "I did, and I swear you are getting better each time I get chance to come and see you. You'll get there Kid, you'll get there," Dave raised his gaze from the boy to the man he had come to see, "Coffee?"

Aaron nodded. "I need something to warm me up."

"Really, I wouldn't have thought so the way you run up and down that side line. Ever thought of coaching?"

Aaron shook his head, hiding the grin that crossed his face. "Just how long have you been here?"

"Long enough." Dave answered before returning his attention to Jack, "Come on Kiddo, get your stuff and I am certain we can find you a hot chocolate, with marshmallows if you want."

"Really," Jack answered before speeding off to collect his bag and change his boots.

"So, how you doing now?" Dave asked.

Aaron gave him a weary look. "Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Dave shrugged. "I guess I am just aware that we never did have that chat."

"What chat?"

"The one I told you we were going to have when this began. Aaron, I appreciate what you did the other night. I needed to accept that we had done the right thing, even if it didn't sit comfortably at the time. However, you, on the other hand, you are still holding out."

The two agents walked side by side towards Jack.

"No Dave I'm not. This," he waved his hands randomly around the area they were in, "this was all I needed. I have come close to losing Jack. I know what it is like to hold my breath while I wait to find the truth, I can't begin to imagine what it must be like to be in limbo for twelve years. We gave those parents an answer this week. We returned their sons. We would never have returned them alive had we of found them twelve years ago, we would have only returned them sooner. I am sorry that we took so long."

"But . . ." Dave pushed for more.

"But we did the best we could at the time. I can accept that."

Dave nodded knowingly; he knew they both had their ways. That each case they completed they had to process and file away, because if they didn't then it would eat away at them until there was nothing left of them. He had been close to that once before and had witnesses many pass the brink and enter the abyss. He was damn sure he wasn't going back there and he would make sure that Aaron didn't tread that path either. Not on his watch.


End file.
